


In Cold Blood

by Coalmine301



Series: Whumptober 2020 [19]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Brutal Murder, Dark, Dark Qui-Gon Jinn, Deception Arc Au, Gen, Mistaken Identity, Revenge, Started Hopeful, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:33:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27114049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coalmine301/pseuds/Coalmine301
Summary: Rage blooms in Qui-gon’s chest.How dare he? How dare that murderer destroy a family and get away with it scott-free?As the silvered Jedi straightens his spine he makes a promise. He will hunt down the kriffing murder who did this.And he will make him pay.
Relationships: Background Qui-gon Jinn/Shmi Skywalker/Tahl, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Series: Whumptober 2020 [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1908538
Comments: 17
Kudos: 74





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Whumptober prompt "Mourning a Loved One"

Obi-wan paced back and forth in the middle of his dark quarters. It had finally happened. The Council has lost its mind. 

How could they possibly expect him to fake his own death, in front of the people he considered his siblings, to boot? Yes, they needed it to be convincing. And yes, Anakin was a bad liar. But he’d gotten good at pretending to feel something he doesn't if the Zygerrian mission was any indication.

He had to tell them! Obi-wan didn’t care that he was directly violating Council orders. He had to make sure his family knew he wasn’t actually dead. 

He had already sent a comm to Qui-gon explaining everything. Of course, experience taught him the older Jedi didn’t check his inbox too frequently. But there was simply no other way discrete enough to spread the word. 

All he could do was hope and pray that Qui-gon was a bit more attentive to his comm than usual. Or that Shmi or Tahl would fill him in on what was about to happen.

At least by speaking face to face Obi-wan could make sure his siblings knew.

As if his thoughts had summoned them the door to his quarters slid open with a soft hiss. The two had been laughing a little amongst themselves, only for the sound to abruptly cut off. All the duo needed was a quick glance at the redhead to know something was wrong. 

“Obi-wan, what’s wrong?” Anakin asked, positioning himself right in the shorter Jedi’s way. Normally it was the blonde who was pacing up a storm, not Obi-wan.

The bearded man took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. This was going to be a difficult conversation. “Before I begin, nothing that’s said in here can leave this room until I say so.”

The others blinked in surprise and shared a quick glance. Intangible words passed from mind to mind along the duo’s training bond. 

Ahsoka spoke first. “Of course, Master.”

“Won’t say a word,” Anakin agreed determinedly. 

Obi-wan nodded, shoulders lowering in relief. “Good,” the redhead breathed.

With that out of the way Anakin repeated his earlier question. “Master, what’s wrong? What’s so important you need a vow of secrecy?”

“Oh, nothing,” the redhead replied. “Just my death.”

* * *

Qui-gon, like any good Jedi, was never quick to anger. He’d be annoyed, yes. Disappointed maybe. But very rarely truly angry. There simply wasn’t a lot that bothered him enough to extract true rage.

But this… this was enough for fury to coil in the pit of his stomach. 

The first thing he had felt was shock. The common room monitor flashed with a grim news report, the anchor’s face pale. Far too much news this day is grim. Qui-gon wouldn’t have paid that much attention to it… if it weren't for the image that followed.

His last padawan lay sprawled across the pavement with his head in Ahsoka’s lap. Beautiful azure eyes stared out at nothing. 

He could what Shmi let out a gasp of shock. He could feel a similar emotion radiating off of Tahl’s silent form. But both were dulled by the pounding in his ears. 

His knees felt weak and for a moment Qui-gon feared he would fall. 

Shmi seizes his arm and Tahl helps her lead him over to the couch. He crashes down onto it, hardly feeling its surface. They are both saying things, comforting things, but he can’t hear either over the pounding in his ears.

Or the aching in his heart.

All he can see is the sight of his padawan -no, his son- lying lifelessly on some unknown Coruscanti street. Anakin and Ahsoka are both there, crouched over the redheaded corpse. They mutter things to each other, lips moving far too fast for Qui-gon to catch even if he wanted to.

And somewhere out there Obi-wan’s murder lurks unpinished. Some filthy bounty hunter 

Rage blooms in Qui-gon’s chest.

_How dare he?_ How dare that murderer destroy a family and get away with it scott-free?

As the silvered Jedi straightens his spine he makes a promise. He will hunt down the kriffing murder who did this. 

And he will make him pay.

* * *

The bounty hunter struggles. Feet kick out desperately as they leave the ground. Blunt nails claw desperately at his neck, mouth gasping for air that would never come.

Disgusting steel blue eyes plead for mercy. 

But there would be no mercy. Not at Qui-gon’s hand. 

Not after this credit-loving dog killed his son. 

With a jerk of his hand the hunter is flung away. He lands hard against the stone and tumbles over a couple times like a ragdoll. The sharp cracks of breaking bone were perhaps the most beautiful sound Qui-gon had ever heard. 

Invisible fingers once more coiled around the hunter’s throat once again. This time Qui-gon slammed his battered form into the rock wall, satisfied at the sharp clack of skull against stone.

His lightsaber hisses to life, ominous blue burning through the fog.

Up until this point he had been content to beat the sniper senseless. But now he wanted to make it really hurt. He wanted to hear this man scream.

Grey eyes widened in horror and realization. Those stubbled lips prt to say something, no doubt to beg for his pathetic life. Qui-gon simply squeezes tighter. He doesn't want to hear a word from this sleemo’s mouth.

“This is for my son, Obi-wan Kenobi,” the Jedi snarls. “The man you murdered in cold blood.”

The ‘saber shoots forward in a blur of motion, quick as a snake. The blade pierces right through his stomach, just above the sniper’s navel. 

Intangible fingers loosen their grip just enough to let the hunter shriek in agony. And that sound is absolutely delicious. 

Unfortunately the sleemo has breath to make words as well as scream. “Master Jed- I-” blood spills over yellowed teeth “Kenobi-”

Qui-gon’s lips peel back in a vicious snarl. “You have no right to say his name!”

Qui-gon’s invisible grip tightens on the hunter’s form before pulling him down. The plasma blade slices through flesh, bones, and organs like a hot knife through butter. Screams of a whole other caliber erupt from bloodied jaws as the sniper writhes in agony.

Qui-gon savors every aspect of it. The smell of burning flesh, the fear in his enemy’s eyes, the glorious sounds of torment… 

At last the blade rips through the sniper’s left shoulder. With a soft cry he falls to the ground, instinctively pressing shaking hands to the grisly wound. 

As Qui-gon looms over the hunter’s beaten form, he takes a moment to stare into those cold grey eyes. They’re shinier than before, brimming with unshed tears. Qui-gon can see his whole reflection in those murderous orbs. 

And in that reflection he can see his own eyes. They’re a different color now: sulfur.

For a moment the Jedi pauses, the gravity of the situation finally making itself known.

Was this really worth it?

But then he merely shrugged it off. Who cared if he Fell? Revenge was far too sweet to stop.

With a jerk of his large hand, the hunter’s eyes tore violently from his skull. The shorter man let out a screech of pure agony, hands flying up to clamp on the now empty sockets.

A cruel smile crawled its way across Qui-gon’s features. 

The sniper will pass soon, that much is certain. But if he was going to keel over anyway, then what’s to stop Qui-gon from having some fun with him?

_‘After all,’_ the silvered Jedi thinks, lifting the half-corpse into the air. _‘He still has all his limbs.’_

And so “Rako Hardeen” slowly dies in tremendous agony, paying for a crime he never truly committed. And Qui-gon savors every moment of it.


	2. My Fault

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning's fault

He couldn’t defend himself. For reasons other than the Force hold, the sudden lack of sight, and the pain screaming through his veins… Obi-wan was completely incapable of striking back at his former master.

‘It’s my fault,’ he thought as he could feel burning sulfur eyes bore into his now sightless form. 

He knew how infrequently, if at all, his former master checked his comm messages. He should have been more direct. He should have told Qui-gon face to face.

Then none of this would have happened. 

All intelligent thought sizzled out as the agony suddenly intensified. From where he floated in a crushing grip Obi-wan could only watch as his leg twisted at the hip, outright rotating like a crank. A sharp yank at it tore free. 

So did a scream from his throat. And his master, his poor master, only grinned. 

The man was grieving, hurting. Because Obi-wan had let the Council convince him this foolish plan was a good idea. 

And so Qui-gon was avenging him the only way he knew how.

His other leg was next, rotating the other way. Tears slide from empty sockets as the harsh sounds of bones grinding against each other rang out against the fog-filled quarry. It too was yanked away in a burst of crimson.

Obi-wan barely had time to recover from that onslaught when intangible fingers gripped his left bicep. He can feel his bone snap, tearing through muscle and flesh. He doesn't need eyes to see a pale spear break through the skin. The arm twists, the bone tearing through flesh like a knife, severing limb from body. 

‘It’s terribly ironic,’ Obi-wan thinks, hysterical from the pain. ‘That Anakin is missing his right arm and that’s all I have left.’

“There is no death,” he whispered to himself, as a desperate self-soothing mantra if nothing else. “There is the Force.”

The invisible hand suddenly disappeared and Obi-wan dropped bonelessly onto the cold stone. He could hardly feel it, he was fading too fast.

‘There is no death, there is the Force.’

* * *

The first time he heard it Qui-gon passed it off as the wind. It was soft enough it could just as well be. But the second and third times it was undeniable.

‘There is no death, there is the Force. There is no death, there is the Force. There is no death, there is the Force.’

How would some bloodthirsty, money-lusting, murderous scum know a Jedi mantra?

It was then that the bounty hunter let out a wet cough. Most of what came up was blood, but so did a tiny almost spider-like piece of metal. A voice modulator. 

And still the mantra continued. ‘There is no death, there is the Force. There is no death, there is the Force. There is no death, there is the Force.’

Though something was very noticeably different this time. 

Qui-gon’s blood ran cold. Dear Force, that… that was Obi-wan’s voice.

But it couldn’t have been. Obi-wan was dead, slaughtered at this monster’s hands.

Yet the facts were undeniable. The voice modulator concealing his son’s voice. The facial bones now rapidly shifting from criminal to general. Even without the blazing auburn hair Qui-gon would know his son’s face anywhere. 

And if that weren’t enough an all too familiar Force presence hovers beside his own.

Oh sweet Force it was true. 

Sanity slams into those eyes. Sulfur melts back into kind, familiar navy.

“Obi-wan…” In an instant he’s at the young man’s side, crashing to his knees beside him. Horror floods his veins as he finally takes in the sheer damage he has done. To his son, no less.

Strong arms gather around the eviscerated form. There has to be something he can do to fix this. There has to be!

A tiniest smile, yet painfully familiar, tugs at the corner of a bloodied mouth. “Hello, Master.”

“Obi-wan,” Qui-gon sobs. “I’m so sorry. I’m so very, very sorry, my son.”

Obi-wan coughs, scarlet trailing from the corner of his mouth. “It’s alrigh’, Master. See ya on-” another painful cough “- other side…”

And just like that the beautiful Force presence shatters. 

With a wordless sob Qui-gon hugs the corpse tight to his chest.

His son. He’s killed his own son. 

The sound of an approaching engine roars overhead. Qui-gon doesn't need to look up to recognize it as the Twilight. He doesn't need to reach for the Force to know it’s Annakin and Ahsoka on board.

Nor does he need it to sense their horror at the sight that awaits.

Instead Qui-gon simply hugged his son and tried to ignore the world. 

And so “Rako Hardeen” slowly dies in tremendous agony, paying for a crime he never truly committed. And Qui-gon regrets every moment of it.


End file.
